


Let Her Own Works Praise Her in the Gates

by ChronicBookworm



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Lady Catherine has strong opinions on her own importance, Marriage of Convenience, Mary grows a backbone, Mary has strong opinions on education of the poor, and by bullies I mean Lady Catherine, musings on morality, slightly manipulative Mary, standing up to bullies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-31 15:51:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15122771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicBookworm/pseuds/ChronicBookworm
Summary: Circumstances (and Mary) conspire to make Mr Collins propose to Mary instead of Charlotte Lucas. The new Mrs Collins finds a place for herself in Hunsford, finds a cause to champion, and finds more courage than she knew she had.





	Let Her Own Works Praise Her in the Gates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kuramiyurights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuramiyurights/gifts).



> All quotes from the Bible are taken from the authorised King James Version. The remaining quotes are taken from Sermons to Young Women by James Fordyce.

_Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies._

_The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil._

_She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life._

_[...]_

_Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates._

_-Proverbs 31:10-31_

 

Mary was minding her own business, as was her wont in a family prone to hysterics and four sisters with expansive personalities, when she was bowled over by a figure moving rapidly in her direction, sending both of them tumbling to the floor.

“Mr Collins,” said she, for it was Mr Collins who had barrelled into her at such speed and with such determination, that she doubted very much he would have stopped for her, had he not also been knocked to the ground, “whatever is the matter?”

“I have been most grievously injured,” said he, “by your most ungrateful, insolent wretch of a sister! She has trifled with my affections in a most unseemly manner, and I shall not stay in this house one minute longer while Miss Elizabeth is here!”

As Mary helped Mr Collins to his feet, rather than the other way round, as would have been the proper way, she said:

“Mr Collins, forgive me if I overstep, but, without knowing the particulars of the situation – if you quit Longbourn now, it is _your_ pride that shall suffer; they will say that Lizzie chased you out, and they will laugh at _you_. Lizzie is known for being particular, and the talk will not be that she has trifled with you, as it ought to be, but rather that you were foolish to think that her wit and liveliness indicated any particular affection for you, rather than mere good humour. Surely you will not give her the satisfaction? And furthermore, you would see far more of her at Lucas Lodge, for Lizzie and Charlotte Lucas are such good friends, that they spend more time with each other than at home.”

This last may have been a slight exaggeration, but it convinced him to stay in Longbourn, thereby saving both himself and the Bennet family from malicious gossip. Now, unless her sisters or mother spread the story (which they undoubtedly would), nobody need know that he had made an offer to Lizzie and been soundly rejected. Mary felt she had done her duty to the family, and if nobody else would appreciate it, well, she did not do things for praise and admiration, like other silly women might do. She did things for the inherent value of them, and while praise and admiration might be _welcomed_ (for she knew of nobody who would actively scorn such things), it was not in her nature to seek them out. Which was just as well, for her actions in keeping Mr Collins at Longbourn certainly did not win her the praise and admiration of her family, who rarely felt or acted as Mary felt they ought.

Dinner that night was tense, to say the least. It fell to Jane and Mary to conduct the conversation, since Lizzie, Mrs Bennet, and Mr Collins were all upset, and Mr Bennet, Kitty and Lydia were never any help in situations such as these – in fact, it was a rare situation that they did not make situations such as these worse. Mary was very thankful indeed when the evening was over and she could withdraw to her room.

\--

Mary believed that every moment was an opportunity to practice a virtue, and she had plenty of opportunities to practice patience in the next few days, as she was Mr Collins’ preferred companion to bluster about the injustice he had suffered. He did like to go on, and had an affectation and pretentiousness that she did not entirely approve of, but his morals were sound, his beliefs appropriate, and his station was to be coveted.

It was on the fifth day of this that she ventured beyond the soothing acquiescence she had allowed herself to express thus far.

“I may overstep again, but perhaps it is for the best that Lizzie did not recognise the worth of your character the way someone with more sense would. I do not think it was God’s will that you should marry my sister. A parson’s wife must be above reproach in every way, far more so than any other lady. I love my sister, but I am not unaware of her faults. Lizzie is beautiful and witty, but she is also wilful and stubborn. She would say something quick-witted to the wrong person, and make you look a fool. Does not Mr Fordyce explicitly warn against affectation and abuse of wit? That is not what you need in a wife: you need someone who knows her duty and will always comport herself in a way that is worthy of the elevated office you hold. Your wife will be an example for the parishioners to follow, much in the same way you are, and you must choose one who will make an example fit to follow.”

Mr Collins was silent for a minute, seemingly struck by her words. Then he rallied.

“Miss Bennet, a thought strikes me. I need a wife, preferably from one of my cousin’s daughters to mend the rift between our families. I do hesitate to bring it up, a gentleman does not like to be rejected twice in one week, but I believe that perhaps you would suit better than your sister. It seems to me that you embody just those characteristics which you espouse must be held by a parson’s wife, and I believe that you would reflect very well indeed on me, were you to be my wife.”

Mary affected surprise she did not entirely feel.

“Mr Collins, you flatter me! When I said those words, I did not intend to put myself forward in such a manner: I intended to counsel a dear friend who recently had an upset, but if you see the possibility for more between us, I urge you to speak plainly.”

“Very well, then I shall. Miss Mary Bennet, I believe you would make me very happy if you agreed to be my wife. You may not have the beauty of your sisters, or their wit, or the ease of manner, but I see now that you outshine them in both sense and character.”

And she had led him to where she wanted. She had not, explicitly, gone into this extended companionship with Mr Collins with the sole intent to secure a proposal – she had intended to save her family’s reputation, especially that of her sister (it did not do to reject outright the first proposal one got, for fear one would get a reputation of being picky, or even snobbish, and there were few things so fragile and precious as a lady’s reputation). However, she definitely did not mind that he had put one forward. It was perhaps mercenary, and she certainly did not love him, but she did not believe in passion as a solid basis for marriage (did not Fordyce say, ‘Violent love cannot subsist, at least cannot be expressed, for any time together, on both sides, otherwise the certain consequence however concealed, is satiety and disgust’).

Mary believed in being of similar stations – which they were, she being the daughter of a gentleman and he being a clergyman and the heir to her father’s estate – and having complementary temperaments, which she believed they also had. She had seen far too many love matches become unhappy once the passion faded, including that of her own parents. It was far better to know what the future was in advance, so as not to be disappointed, and expect there to be love where there was none or expect one’s wife or husband to be the paragon of virtue while they were as flawed as any of God’s creatures were. Nobody who spent any great deal of time in Mr Collins’ company could fail to pick up on his character flaws, but Mary believed his obsequiousness stemmed rather from a need to have someone to follow. With the right kind of guidance, she believed he could make her a very good husband, in time. She accepted the proposal.

\--

Her family received the news with mixed reactions. Kitty and Lydia, in particular, found it most amusing that he had run straight into Mary’s arms after his rejection by Lizzie.

“I cannot tell you how relieved I am you accepted, Mary,” said Kitty as the ladies were in the sitting room doing their sewing, “or else he would have turned to me next! Lord, can you imagine? What a nightmare that would be!”

Jane and Lizzie, on the other hand, were more concerned.

“Are you certain? There is still time to break it off. He does not seem at all worthy of you, Mary. I know you worry about the future, and I realise the thought of being a vicar’s wife would seem attractive, but Mr Collins is so…” Jane trailed off, not knowing how to end the sentence without causing offense. Lizzie opened her mouth to take over, not at all sharing her sister’s reluctance to cause offense, but Mary interjected before she could:

“I am well aware of his faults; however, I have neither the beauty of Jane nor the wit of Lizzie, and therefore I must accept what comes my way.”

“At least you will be well matched, since Mr Collins also has neither beauty nor wit!” Lydia jested.

“Lydia! That is not something a lady says!”

It was Jane who made the reproach of course; Mrs Bennet would never correct her favourite child in such a way.

Mrs Bennet, naturally, was delighted. As soon as the proposal had been made and accepted, Mr Collins had moved to Lucas Lodge, claiming it was hardly appropriate for him to sleep under the same roof as his betrothed. Mary privately thought that he had in fact taken the first excuse he could to avoid Mrs Bennet and the younger Bennet sisters he could take without giving offense. He still had to suffer through the trial that was dinner with the Bennet family most nights, though, and on the others they were invited to dine with families in the neighbourhood, who wished to congratulate the happy couple.

“Did I not always say Mary was my most dutiful daughter? And Mr Collins shall make me a fine son indeed! Of course his family feeling would not let him see us as paupers,” Mrs Bennet exclaimed at more than one family dinner. “Oh, Mary, you have made me so happy! We are saved! Mary shall be mistress of Longbourn when Mr Bennet dies, and so our position is secured! We shall not have to beg in the hedgerows. Did I not always say that Mary would save us all?”

“Mrs Bennet, you have never said such a thing in your entire life,” opined Mr Bennet. “In fact, you have very often said the opposite.”

“Oh hush, that is all in the past! Mary, my dear, my most dutiful and accomplished daughter, you have made me so proud! And you are very well matched, my dear, I cannot for the life of me believe that he would think Lizzie more suitable. I did always tell Mr Collins that Mary is the one you want, she is the one who would make a fine parson’s wife.”

Lizzie had to turn away to disguise her laugh as a cough.

“I admit, they are indeed well suited,” agreed Mr Bennet, “for I have never known two people so caught up in their own ideas of sense and propriety. I believe you shall have many a happy evening debating the specific placement of a comma versus a semicolon in Mr Fordyce’s sermons, and other matters of the utmost importance.”

Mary burned with shame, and thought the wedding could not come too soon.

\--

It was after one such dinner that Jane and Lizzie snuck into the bedroom Mary shared with Kitty, full of sisterly concern. Lydia slept on her own, admittedly in the smallest bedroom, but Mary often thought that it was quite unfair that the youngest should have a room all to herself. She reassured them again that she did know what she was doing.

“I know he is not what a man of the church ought to be – he is obsequious, and flatters those above him in station while paying no regard to those below him, but I believe that I can guide him in the right direction. I know several improving tracts and books which I might recommend to him.”

Jane looked unconvinced. “I suppose it is not a task I would relish, but you have always been keen to educate and improve others,” she said.

“I am no expert, but does not your beloved Mr Fordyce have words about presuming to know more than a man?” asked Lizzie with a teasing bent around her mouth.

“He does indeed say: ‘ _Be ever cautious in displaying your good sense. It will be thought you assume superiority over the rest of the company. But if you have any learning, keep it a profound secret especially from the men, who generally look with a jealous and malignant eye on a woman of great parts and a cultivated understanding_ ’,” quoted Mary. “But of course I would _never_ laud my superior comprehension over my husband. However, Mr Fordyce never says anything about a gentle nudge,” she added, feeling her lips curl upwards into a conspiratorial smile.

Lizzie looked positively delighted at this.

“Mary Bennet, you sly thing, I would never have believed you of such deviousness! I believe engagement has done wonders for your disposition.”

Mary supposed this counted for a compliment in Lizzie’s mind, and was quite touched by it.

\--

Mary had never been the centre of attention before, and found that, for all she might have wished not to be the constantly overlooked sister, she also found very little enjoyment in being suddenly the favourite daughter – it was quite exhausting. She must endure dress fittings, Mrs Bennet fussing over her, Mr Bennet’s sardonic commentary directed almost exclusively at her and her intended husband, Lydia’s jealousy that took the form of spiteful comments directed at Mary’s looks (including such gems as: “I should wear a veil at the wedding if I were you, Mary, and hope that I would never have to take it off”), the lack of independence she suffered when her mother must know where she was at all times and wanted to bring her along on all the visits she had previously brought Jane on, and the knowledge that the neighbours were gossiping about her, and not being entirely certain whether it was complimentary or not. She knew that a true lady did not care about gossip, but she also knew that a lady’s reputation was the most precious thing she had, and once the regard of the neighbours had been lost, it was very difficult to regain it. Although, she was sure that was more intended to be about loss of virtue, and less about whether or not one’s intended husband was held in mockery among the neighbours or not. But it still bothered her, even though she tried not to let it.

And then, later, once the excitement had worn off, she must endure the thinly veiled comments from Mrs Bennet that this was merely a rehearsal – that the main wedding she was looking forward to was the one between Jane and Mr Bingley. Of course it was only right and proper that Mr Collins marry Mr Bennet’s daughter, keeping Longbourn in the family, but that was hardly an achievement – the other daughters were sure to do better than that!

Mary held her mother’s attention for about two weeks – then Mr Bingley suddenly departed Netherfield, and Mrs Bennet’s attentions became again preoccupied with how her remaining daughters were to manage, especially Jane, whose prospects had been as good as sealed!

But at least they need not worry about Mr Collins turning them out of their home, and she was sure they were all grateful for that.

And while all of the guests were known to them, weddings were such good occasions to seal further deals, with the thought of romance in the air. And Jane was sure to steal the show, as it were, given her beauty and amiability. Oh, if only Mr Bingley were still here, she was sure the wedding would have been the occasion on which he finally proposed. And was it not the height of rudeness, to quit a mere weeks before the wedding, with not a word to the bride or groom! Why, it was an insult to the both of them, and if they ever saw Mr Bingley or his conceited sisters and that odious Mr Darcy, Mrs Bennet would be sure to give them piece of her mind, and they should do the same.

Mary found plenty of opportunities to practice patience, in the weeks leading up to her wedding.

\--

At one walk through the gardens, with Jane at a respectable distance acting as chaperone, but not at such a distance she could overhear what they were saying, Mr Collins ventured:

“Forgive me for saying so, but I have the impression your family are not always very nice to you, my dear.”

“You mustn’t worry, Mr Collins, I am well used to my family,” Mary reassured him.

“Well, I would like to reassure you that things will be very different in Hunsford – you will have the patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and there is nobody who can fail to respect her.”

“I look forward to it very much,” she replied. She was quite touched that he would notice, and think of someone other than himself – it inspired her with the hope that he was not beyond her capabilities to manage. There was potential in him, she felt, to be a truly good man, if only he had the right guidance. Mary would endeavour to be that right guidance.

\--

Her wedding was… a wedding. Mary had never wanted to get married to have a wedding – she had always wanted to be a wife. The wedding was just what you had to get through in order to become a wife. There were the vows, and then the feast held at Longbourn. All the neighbours paid her compliments, and everyone was willing to congratulate her, but few were sincere.

“Every bride looks splendid on her wedding day, no matter how comely she is at other times,” Sir William Lucas said, and that was perhaps the most genuine of any of the compliments that were paid to her.

Mrs Bennet was glowing, of course, relishing in her role as hostess of a wedding of one of her daughters, the first of many, she assured anyone who would listen. Unfortunately, it did not seem as though any of her daughters would make any connections at this wedding, as she had hoped, but there were many opportunities to come, she was sure of it. While it may perhaps be considered ill form to speak of marrying off one’s other daughters at the wedding, the Meryton society was well used to Mrs Bennet by now, and most were willing to overlook her crassness, at least to her face, the same way the Bennets were willing to overlook the foibles of their neighbours to their face. When one’s society was as limited as it was at Meryton, one did not lightly cause such offense as to limit the families with which one socialised even further.

Mary was allowed to play a whole concerto all the way through before any family member interrupted her to either remove her from the pianoforte or to entreat her to play something they could dance to (in fact, in this case, it was both – they not only removed her from the pianoforte and place Miss Maria Lucas there instead, but they insisted she play only music that could be danced to). Mary knew this tolerance for her playing was a courtesy due to her wedding, and they probably felt it was very gracious of them to not remove her sooner. As the traditions demanded, Mary was forced to dance one dance with Mr Bennet, and one dance with her new husband – neither of them were particularly accomplished dancers, and after one dance Mary bowed out and withdrew for a moment to privately nurse her bruised toes.

And as the evening drew to a close, Mary went to bed next to Mr Collins, as a married woman. They set off for Hunsford not two days after the wedding.

\--

On the first evening of their return, they were invited to dinner at Rosings Park with Lady Catherine and her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh.

Mr Collins, although he tried to hide it (admittedly with very limited success) was most apprehensive.

“It is very important, my dear Mrs Collins, that we should be conscious of the honour they bestow upon us. You must be on your best behaviour, for your behaviour shall reflect on me as Lady Catherine’s client. Although I hardly need to tell you this, my dear, for your behaviour is always above reproach. It is just of _special_ importance at this dinner.”

Mary assured him that he need not be worried on her account, and that she should comport herself in such a manner that neither Lady Catherine nor Miss de Bourgh had any cause to find fault with her.

“That reassures me greatly, my dear Mrs Collins,” said Mr Collins. “I am greatly reassured.”

Lady Catherine had been built up so much by her husband, that Mary was almost surprised to note that she was in fact, merely an elderly lady, although naturally a very important one with a peerage.

Mary had already gathered that Lady Catherine was a lady of strong opinions, and she found it most unsuitable that Mary should be married before her elder sisters. Mr Collins humbly suggested that Mary was better suited to be parson’s wife than her headstrong and opinionated sisters.

“Well, it is fortunate indeed that nobody expects a parson’s wife to be a beauty, for you are certainly unfortunate in looks,” Lady Catherine harrumphed and said nothing more on the subject, nor did she expect anyone else to respond, to Mr Collins’ great and obvious relief.

Upon hearing that Mary enjoyed playing the pianoforte, Lady Catherine did offer the housekeeper’s piano for her to practice on, since there would be no room for an instrument at the parsonage. In the housekeeper’s rooms, she said, Mary would be the out of way and disturb nobody.

Mr Collins was almost beside himself at such condescension. Such generosity! His dear wife would of course be honoured to play on Lady Catherine’s housekeeper’s pianoforte.

“Indeed, Mr Collins has the right of it,” said Mary, “you are too kind, Lady Catherine. I do not know how to express my gratitude. I should be honoured indeed.”

Lady Catherine nodded, accepting such prostration as her due, and moved the conversation on to other matters.

Mary did not express a single opinion throughout the entire dinner, other than to add her agreement to Mr Collins’ agreement to Lady Catherine’s opinions. Mr Collins departed in the best of humour, declaring the dinner an indisputable success, and proclaiming that Lady Catherine was very impressed with Mary’s good sense.

\--

Hunsford parsonage was smaller than Longbourn, but there was plenty of space for Mary to make it her own. She relished not having to share her space with any of her sisters, and being allowed to decorate the way she wished. It was sorely lacking a woman’s touch, and Mary took the opportunity the exercise the virtue of diligence, in making her mark upon her domain. Lady Catherine had Opinions, of course, and Mary acquiesced to most of them, for the sake of domestic harmony, while making sure the end result was something she could live with. The few departures she made from Lady Catherine’s advice were in fact not noticed, as Lady Catherine condescended to visit to the parsonage but once, the rest of the time demanding that Mr and Mrs Collins attend upon her in Rosings Park. Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh afforded Mary many opportunities to practice her virtues – humility and patience mostly. But Mary was determined to make a good life for herself, and so she bit her tongue, acquiesced, and did not make waves.

The parsonage employed a cook and a girl from the village who “did” for them, mainly cleaning and assorted household tasks, which meant that much of Mary’s time was freed up for running the household, reading, and looking after the parishioners. She had to say this about Lady Catherine (for she was under no delusions that her husband had had any part in hiring the servants) she did know how to engage hard-working, diligent and dutiful staff. Mary got on splendidly with Cook, and she found in Jenny a young girl eager to learn and better herself, and took the girl under her wing. She did wonder if they perhaps reported to Lady Catherine, so she was careful not to let her guard down too much around them, and never behave in such a way that Lady Catherine might have something to remark upon in her conduct.

Regarding her husband, she was making progress in her mission to improve him. Fordyce said ‘ _I am astonished at the folly of many women who are still reproaching their husbands for leaving them alone, for preferring this or that company to theirs, when, to speak the truth, they have themselves in great measure to blame. Had you behaved to them with more respectful observance studying their humours, overlooking their mistakes, submitting to their opinions in matters indifferent, giving soft answers to hasty words, complaining as little as possible your house might be the abode of domestic bliss_ ’, and she was determined that he would find nothing but warmth and kindness in her. Her house would indeed be the abode of domestic bliss!

Mr Collins seemed to flourish under her attentions in a way that made her quite certain that he had never had anyone make it clear she considered him worthy to be listened to, before, and even though she agreed with her father that he could, at times, be quite silly, she did feel sorry for him. Occasionally he betrayed some depth of feeling or some regard for another person, that made her think that he could have someone of a truly remarkable character if only his upbringing had been of a better kind. Oh, what a man he might have been, had he had someone to guide him! Well, Mary was nothing if not determined, and she was decided to make him her project. She flattered his intellect, got him to read improving tracts which she would then discuss with him, partly under the guise of not understanding them. He was never so happy, she learned, as when he got to explain something to her. They divided the house into her sitting room, his study, they spent most of their evenings in their shared library.

She had never thought she would miss having her sisters constantly around her, nattering about inane and vain matters such as gowns, bonnets, and ribbons, but she found that the one thing she was lacking in her new life, was female companionship. Lady Catherine and Miss Anne de Bourgh, being closest to her in station, should have been the natural companions to her, but she found that they felt themselves entirely above her, and while they were willing to have Mr and Mrs Collins for dinner, Mrs Collins on her own was only rarely invited to tea or on excursions, and of course, due to the difference in their stations, there was no question of Mary tendering the first invite. She did wonder if perhaps Miss de Bourgh lacked for female companionship as much as she did, but she was too much under the thumb of her overbearing mother to seek out Mary on her own, and thus they never formed the tight bond that Mary might have wished for, that she had seen between Jane and Lizzie, and Kitty and Lydia, but never experienced for herself.

After some two months, Lady Catherine’s hints that they should beget an heir post-haste became rather less oblique, and Mary had to suffer through many an uncomfortably explicit conversation on the best procedure to conceive, both when her husband was there and when he was not (in all honesty, Mary was not quite sure which was more intolerable). She was not a little shocked that Lady Catherine would bring up the subject both in mixed company, and in front of her daughter, who was not yet married, but Lady Catherine dismissed this the one time she carefully suggested that perhaps the subject was not suitable for unmarried young ladies (even though Miss de Bourgh was a near decade older than Mary), claiming that since Anne was due to marry her cousin, she would have need of the knowledge someday.

Mary also made sure to do her duty in visiting all her husband’s parishioners and learning their names and situation, looking after the sick and needy, and spreading good words of improvement. This was an opportunity to exercise the virtues of charity and kindness. She was a most conscientious wife to Mr Collins, who started to increase his visits so as not to look negligent next to his diligent wife.

Once she judged him to be ready, on a day where he had been stressed and frazzled, she approached him in his study after supper.

“My dear, you seem anxious. May I be of any help?”

“It’s this sermon,” he said. “I cannot find the words.”

“Perhaps I can be of help,” she offered again.

“Oh, my dear, you are very good to me, but I doubt it. It is something I must struggle with myself.”

Mary sharpened her tone slightly.

“Mr Collins, although I am the housekeeper of this parsonage, I am more than that; I am your wife, your primary companion and your helpmate. It is my _duty_ to help you in all respects, and if you are struggling with the sermon, I would be remiss if I did not help you. Now, please explain to me what you are trying to say and where you are struggling, and we will work through it together, as husband and wife.”

Mr Collins looked upon her with newfound respect.

“You are too good to me, my dear. You are truly everything I could wish for in a wife.”

“That is my only goal,” said Mary piously. She was gratified when as many as five people took special care to compliment Mr Collins on his sermon as they left the church that Sunday. Although none of them were Lady Catherine, Mary was determined that it would only be a matter of time. After that, they collaborated on all his sermons. Mary thought she was well on her way to being indispensable to him.

\--

Her first project having been such a success, and Mr Collins well on his way to being a full partner to her, Mary decided she needed another project to occupy her time. In Longbourn, she had been content to read and contemplate, but now that she was a married woman, she felt that she should fulfil her duty and do everything she could to reflect well on her husband, and that did not include sitting idle at home not seeing anybody. It was her duty to participate in society, and it was especially her duty as the vicar’s wife to spread godliness in the community and look to the welfare of those poorest under her protection.

“In Meryton,” Mary said to her husband over supper an evening, “the vicar’s wife would hold lessons on Sundays for the labourers’ children, when they were not needed on the farms, and she would also hold evening classes for those farmers or labourers who wished to learn. She would instruct them in the basics of reading, writing, arithmetic, and Bible knowledge, allowing them to lead sober, disciplined, and god-fearing lives. I would very much like to do the same here.”

Mr Collins was not averse to the idea, as long as Mary thought she could manage that in addition to her regular duties, which she assured him she could.

Lady Catherine, on the other hand, would not hear of it.

“I have heard of such modern inventions,” she sniffed. “Nothing good comes from educating the masses. Why do they need to read? What will they use the knowledge for? Will it make their oxen faster? Will it help them bring in more grain? Will it improve their harvest? It is far more likely that they will use it for ill. Their minds are not made for such things.”

“Education will allow them to lead industrious lives on the right path. The Bible teaches us that ‘ _If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him_ ,’ surely that means it is the Church’s duty to educate any who asks for it in the right ways. My proposal is far more modest,” suggested Mary.

“You would do better to do your duty to your husband,” commented Lady Catherine. “Unless there is a child in you which I am not aware of, which I highly doubt, for I have the utmost skill in determining when a young wife is about to become a mother – I am sure I would know before the young wife in question. Have you been trying the ways I told you? It is no use thinking you will conceive if you do not go about it in the right ways.”

Mary felt her cheeks redden, and had to admit that no, she was not with child yet (even though it really was not Lady Catherine’s business, and any talk of this was highly improper).

Mr Collins unsurprisingly found that he agreed with Lady Catherine’s view, but Mary was not deterred.

“I will write to the bishop for his support. And I will write to the rector and the vicar’s of the surrounding parishes, I am sure they would also lend their support. Maybe we could not have a school solely for our parishioners, maybe we would have to share the responsibility with the others, but that is no great matter. Most churches these days have one of these Sunday schools, they have the support of the Church. There are almost two thousand in England alone! Lady Catherine is most distinguished, but she is old-fashioned, and times must move on. We can have subscribers who can nominate sober and industrious children who are worthy of the education – that was the way they did it in Meryton. It would be unfortunate if Lady Catherine did not subscribe, but I am sure we can manage without her.”

Throughout her speech, Mr Collins had grown increasingly uneasy, until he could no longer stand to remain silent.

“What are you saying, Mrs Collins? Lady Catherine is my patron, I cannot go against her. I would lose my livelihood, my way of life! We would be impoverished. I would have to beg the bishop, and perhaps be offered a position as a curate, when I have had my own living! The shame and indignity of it!”

“Lady Catherine may be your patron, but you are the _vicar_ , and you have ultimate control over what goes on in your church. Your duty is to the parishioners, not Lady Catherine. A living is for life, she would be very hard pressed to have you removed. If we join together, we can weather this storm,” she told him severely.

Mr Collins was torn, and made no attempt to hide it. Mary was sorry she had caused him distress, but she was not sorry she had proposed the idea of a Sunday school, nor that she would not bend to Lady Catherine’s will. Hunsford would have a school for the needy, she was determined of it.

\--

Mary had forgotten the connexion between Mr Darcy and Lady Catherine, but she was reminded of it when the latter informed them that her nephews would be arriving on a visit and they were expected to dine with them while they were at Rosings. Relations between Rosings Park and the parsonage were frosty, and had been ever since Mary had refused to give up her idea of a Sunday school, but clearly, appearances must be maintained. Mr Collins had taken to fawning even more over Lady Catherine, but he also would not order Mary to give up her ideas, so he, too, was out of favour with his patron, and it caused him great distress.

It did not make for a pleasant evening, but Colonel Fitzwilliam, the cousin of Mr Darcy and Miss de Bourgh, was lively enough to cover up the awkwardness, and Mary was all too happy to help him. Mary noted no particular warmth of feeling between Mr Darcy or Anne de Bourgh, but she reflected that both of them were so reserved, that she might not notice if there was. And even if there wasn’t, that did not necessarily mean they were _not_ engaged – marriages in the aristocracy were still often less for love and more for political or economic reasons. Why, in some sense, her own marriage could be seen as economic, rather than a love match. She was fond of her husband, to be sure, but that had not been foremost on her mind when they were courting.

They managed to get through the dinner unscathed, and so far, the permission to use the grounds around Rosings Park for recreation still stood, even though Lady Catherine had rescinded her permission to use her housekeeper’s instrument. Although Mary did miss music a great deal, she found she was so busy trying to organise the school, that she would hardly have had time to practice, had she still been allowed to, and that might have felt even worse, for then it would have been another obligation that she had to fit into her busy day, as she had a duty as a lady to keep up her accomplishments. Now she was quite unable to, through no fault of her own, and thus she did not need to feel at all guilty that she was not spending time practicing.

The gardens and grounds, however, were still theirs to dispose of, and it was there she met Mr Darcy. He greeted her politely, and once the required courtesies of inquiring after the health of their mutual friends and family were done they settled into a semi-comfortable silence, wandering about the rose gardens.

“I believe, Mr Darcy, that you missed my wedding, which was most ill done,” Mary said when she could no longer contain herself.

Mr Darcy looked even more ill at ease than was his wont.

“Unfortunately it was unavoidable. Mr Bingley had urgent business in London.”

“Then the polite thing would be to give notice to the bride and groom, or at least the bride’s family hosting the wedding, that one does not intend to attend, and give a reason so as to avoid giving offense,” Mary said. “It is not, perhaps, for the wife of a vicar to give such advice to a gentleman, but I feel it is my duty as a servant of God and the community to instruct all those who will take my advice, for the betterment of society, so I hope you will forgive my forwardness.”

“I beg your pardon for the offense given, which was not intended. However, it seems not giving offense has never been a particular talent of mine,” he replied stiffly.

“ _That_ I can well believe,” said Mary. It was perhaps the most deliberately unkind thing she had ever said, but the thought of her dear Jane’s happiness that he and his friend had, however unwittingly, ruined, made her feel less than gracious towards him, and so she allowed herself one spiteful comment, before mentally giving herself a lecture and determining to be more charitable and kind in the future.

“But it is in the past, now,” she said graciously. “You must endeavour to do better in the future.”

Their visit came at the height of the Sunday school row, and when it was time to head back inside for some tea to which Mary and Mr Collins had graciously been invited, they found Lady Catherine in a spitting fury. Ah, Mary thought dully, she must have found out that I have been asking the neighbours for subscriptions to the Sunday school, despite her disapprobation.

“I will not stand for you going behind my back!” Lady Catherine exclaimed. “Such audacious and insolent behaviour is not worthy of you, Mrs Collins! You will cease this at once. I must be obeyed!”

Mary was slightly uncomfortable at having this row in public, even if the audience were just her husband and Lady Catherine’s family, but if Lady Catherine did not have the breeding to avoid it, then Mary must confront it. She had no power in this situation to change the subject – she knew Lady Catherine well enough by now to know that she would not be deterred, and Mary could either fold, or stand up to her. She felt strongly enough about the school that folding hardly even occurred to her as an option.

“In fact I will not,” she stated, straightening her back and looking Lady Catherine straight in the eyes. “I am acting as the wife of the vicar, I am well within my rights to ask some of the more well-off neighbours and local tradesmen of the village to support this charitable endeavour that I believe would bring untold benefits to those least fortunate among us.”

Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and she almost hissed as she responded:

“You forget, _Mrs Collins,_ I bestowed this living on Mr Collins, and it is thanks to my largesse you live as comfortably as you do. You might find your circumstances far less favourable, should I withdraw my patronage.”

Mr Collins blanched and started to stammer out an apology, when Mr Darcy interrupted.

“I believe Mrs Collins’ ideas have merit – we have had a Sunday school in Lambton since before I was born, and many of Pemberley’s servants were educated there. As to your other point, threatening a man’s livelihood over a disagreement of opinion, I say this: the vicar at Lambton is old, and the candidate my father had in mind for the post was… not suitable. I believe Mr Collin’s would make an excellent curate, until the day he could inherit the living, and Mrs Collins would find that the Sunday school could always use another teacher.”

Mary was taken aback at this – she had rather thought Mr Darcy had a very low opinion of both herself and her husband, but clearly this was not the case.

“That will not be necessary,” said Lady Catherine stiffly. “I was merely making a point. Mr Collins is _my_ vicar. And if Mrs Collins wishes this school, let her have it.”

Mary had the permission to set up her school (which she had been doing without permission, certain that she would receive it eventually), but it had cost her Lady Catherine’s regard. She was not quite certain what this would mean for her future at Hunsford. The domestic harmony she had enjoyed with Mr Collins had also passed into a more fractious relationship, torn as he was between his wife and his patron.

“You would have me give up my living to be a curate elsewhere? We would gain nothing from that, seeing as we would also have to pay to have a curate at Hunsford! You risked everything, Mrs Collins. It was most foolhardy, and I did not think that of you! I further did not like the tone you took with Lady Catherine – it will take long time to smooth things out and regain the favour I had with her. You have put me in bad position, Mrs Collins.”

“You must not worry, Mr Collins,” replied Mary, “as you see, everything worked out. I was confident Lady Catherine would not want to lose such a talented man as yourself. And she could not have you removed without the bishop’s authority.”

“She could make our situation here untenable,” Mr Collins objected. “Our comfortable lifestyle is largely due to her support.”

“I would rather stand up for my principles than fold to bullying and threats, especially threats to the pocketbook,” said Mary. “Sometimes one must do the right thing, even if it is to one’s own financial detriment. A vicar should not be obsessed with material worth. Did not Christ himself say: ‘ _ye cannot serve both God and Mammon_ ’?”

“While that is in fact true, it does not follow that a servant of God must give up all comforts, for it also says that ‘ _My God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus_ ’,” objected Mr Collins, “and the rightful order is that those in stations below serve those above, as a wife must obey her husband, so must a vicar obey his patron.”

“A vicar must obey firstly the Word of God, and Proverbs 22:6 encourages us to ‘ _train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it_ ,’ secondly he must obey his bishop, who in this case has given his full support behind the scheme, and thirdly, he must obey his conscience, which surely ought to tell you that it is right and proper to give opportunities to those who lack them. He must consider the wishes of his patron last, for his patron represents his worldly position, which he ought not be overmuch concerned with,” Mary upbraided him.

“You are of course right, my dear, as you always are,” said Mr Collins meekly, “but I still do not think it was wise to anger Lady Catherine so.”

“Perhaps not,” Mary agreed, “but it was necessary.”

\--

Lizzie came to visit in April – she was slightly delayed, since the plan was for both Lizzie and Kitty to visit Mary in March while Jane was in London, leaving Lydia as the only daughter in Longbourn: neither Lydia nor Kitty would have that, however, and after the trip had to be postponed several times due to illness on Kitty’s part (neither Mary nor Lizzie knew whether it was faked or genuine, and Mary did not care to hazard a guess), Mr Bennet put his foot down and decided that Lizzie was to visit on her own. Mary was slightly relieved, for she got on far better with Lizzie than with Kitty (the two of them sharing a love of reading, although their tastes in books were wildly divergent), and immediately felt slightly ashamed of her reaction, since she ought to love all her sisters equally. She was, however, relieved that she was not in Longbourn in the immediate aftermath of Mr Bennet’s decision, and the only guilt she felt at this relief was that which came from the awareness that poor Lizzie was not so lucky. The outcome of the many turns during that spring, eventually, came with the result that Lizzie arrived alone on a glorious April afternoon, and the two sisters spent a happy afternoon catching each other up on all that had happened since they last saw each other some four months previous at Mary’s wedding. Lizzie proclaimed Mary much improved, and that married life suited her.

“I am not surprised you would wish to start a school,” said Lizzie, “you always did like lecturing. A captive audience to tell how they should live hanging onto your every word, why, it sounds like you have truly achieved everything you wish for in this life!”

Mary saw the affection underneath the teasing, and so was not offended.

“It is not so simple – Lady Catherine is vehemently opposed to the idea, and has in revenge withdrawn her invitation for me to use the instrument at Rosings, and poor Mr Collins does not know what to think, torn between his wife and his patron. But I believe he has been bolstered by Mr Darcy’s defence of the idea.”

“I am astonished that you did not fold immediately when Lady Catherine withdrew her gracious permission to use her instrument out of the way of anybody – although, if, as she says, you truly should not disturb anybody there, I wonder whether she would notice if you snuck in to practice despite Lady Catherine’s edict! But I imagine you are far too honest to test it out, and that is a mark in your favour. But truly, Mary, I admire your strength in standing up for your idea, despite Lady Catherine’s disapprobation, that must take courage,” said Lizzie. “But I am astonished at Mr Darcy would speak in defence of either you, or this school!”

Mary explained his offer of the living in Lambton, which was supposed go to someone who was discovered not to be suitable.

“Not suitable,” Lizzie exclaimed, “I think we all know what that means. It means not good enough for Mr Darcy’s exacting standards, whatever those might be. Poor Mr Wickham, to be cheated out of his living in such a way!”

“Perhaps that is not what it means,” said Mary, “be careful you do not judge overmuch on Mr Wickham’s charm and Mr Darcy’s lack of it – the presence or absence of charm does not say much about the character that lies underneath.”

“You are very wise to caution me in such a way,” said Lizzie, “but you think Mr Collins decent – your judgement is clearly suspect!”

“Mr Collins _is_ decent,” opined Mary in defence of her husband, “he is an attentive husband and his heart is in the right place, although he struggles to convey it. He comes across as unctuous and mercenary, but I believe that is his anxiety over being without a situation speaking. You forget, he did not grow up in such fortunate circumstances as we did. Why, his father was practically illiterate!”

Lizzie was slightly taken aback at this vehement defence.

“Do you love him?” she asked.

Mary hesitated.

“I don’t know that I _don’t_ love him. I care for him a great deal, I find enjoyment in his companionship, and I have growing respect for him. I believe he is trying to be a good man, in the best way he can, and I also believe that my companionship is improving him. I feel like I have found my place and my calling, which is here, and improving both Mr Collins and the Hunsford society, and I am content, Lizzie, truly I am.”

\--

There were some dramatics going on between Lizzie and Mr Darcy, but Mary did not pay too much attention even though she wished to, because at that very time, several parishioners took ill, and Mary did her duty and visited them all. But she returned one day to find Lizzie in state, and the next day Darcy quit Rosings Park. Lizzie always had flair for the dramatic, and she conveyed the tale to Mary later – apparently Mr Darcy had proposed (and it had been very badly done indeed, with many insults to her family and station), and she had rejected him, for how could she love a man such as him? And how could he think that was a suitable proposal? To say that he loved her in spite of her station, in spite of her family, and in spite even of _himself_ and his good sense?

Mary had never been very good at the kind of sympathy this situation required, so she did what she usually did in times when she did not know what to say – she fell back on moralising and good advice taken from improving literature, in this case as so many, Fordyce’s sermons.

“That is second proposal turn down – you must be careful you do not get reputation for leading men on, for I know you do not do it intentionally, but you are so engaging and witty, that I fear men might take your actions for more than they mean, and Fordyce tells us to ‘ _remember how tender a thing a woman’s reputation is; how hard to preserve, and when lost how impossible to recover_ ’. I would hate to see you gain a reputation for being a flirt!”

“Are you suggesting that I should have accepted him?” Lizzie demanded. “I would never – not for all the riches in the world would I have done that! I cannot marry without regard, and I will not. I would rather suffer a lack of reputation and live as a spinster for all of my days.”

“Well, your current prospects are either to marry, or to live with me and Mr Collins as a spinster aunt – I would not be so quick to turn down the next proposal you receive,” said Mary, attempting for once to bring levity to the situation – Lizzie was skilled in it, and Mary thought she might appreciate her own, tentative attempts. She was rewarded with a smile and a small laugh, breaking Lizzie out of her anger and upset.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Lizzie, rather thoughtfully. “There was a time when I would have liked nothing less, but perhaps it would not be so bad. I would not have to move when Papa dies, and Longbourn is large enough I can have my own room, should you not have be as unwise as our parents and have an overabundance of children. And I shall never run out of things to laugh at if I were to live with your husband constantly.”

“Or indeed, me,” for Mary was well aware that she was a source of amusement to both her father as well as all of her sisters.

“I cannot promise I will not laugh at you, my dear Mary,” said Lizzie, “for I know myself to well to make promises I have no ability to keep. But I can promise I shall do it out of affection.”

“That shall have to suffice for me. As long as I am allowed to give you moral sermons out of that same feeling,” Mary said.

“That seems nothing but fair,” and the two sisters shook on it, in the style of businessmen, before breaking down into giggles.

“Thank you, Mary, for making me feel better,” said Lizzie.

\--

Lizzie departed not long after that, and Mary found that her summer was very busy. No sooner had most of the ill parishioners recovered but several young women bore children. Mary made her rounds to the new mothers, and put up with Lady Catherine’s ill-bred comments about her own lack of child. She and Mr Collins had now been married over half a year, with nothing to show for it, and Lady Catherine, who still had not thawed towards Mary, was starting to claim that Mary was a neglectful wife. Mr Collins assured Mary that he did not find her at all neglectful, he found her a most loving, attentive and dutiful wife, but he would only say so in private, never in front of Lady Catherine, so naturally she was of the belief that Mr Collins agreed with her, and found Mary lacking as a wife. Mary found it all very trying.

There was also the start of the school keeping Mary busy. Lady Catherine had eventually paid the subscription fee, but she had not nominated any students. Mary started with six students from the families of Lady Catherine’s tenants, who were all known to her as sober, hard-working families who wished to improve themselves. The students ranged in age from 4 to 15 (the youngest, Mary thought, was perhaps a little young, but she was a sister of an older student, and remarkably well-behaved, so Mary allowed her to participate in the lessons as well as she could follow, and did not demand over-much of her in terms of achievement). All her students were diligent, absorbed information faster than she could give it out, and adored her. Mary had never been adored before, and she could see how easily it could go to people’s heads and make them vain. She was, she thought, almost in danger of that herself, because she did find it gratifying to be admired in such a way – she had only ever been scorned or tolerated before (with the exception of Mr Collins, who she thought was rather more pleased with how she reflected upon him, than with any intrinsic quality she might possess). However, knowing this danger that she might be too fond of being adored, she encouraged them instead to turn their adoration to Lady Catherine, who was good enough to let their parents live on and use her land, and whose generosity allowed them this opportunity to attend school and learn, and also, naturally, to God, who should always be foremost in the adoration of every being.

She was vindicated when one of her students gave a bouquet of wildflowers to Lady Catherine and gave her the most heartfelt thanks for making it possible for him to learn.

“Mrs Collins says you are our patron, which means we owe you everything,” said this precious, wonderful boy, and Mary’s heart swelled with pride, and she made a mental note to bring some sweets that she was sure he would enjoy to the next lesson.

Lady Catherine accepted the flowers with a nod to the child, then handed them over to Mary to take care of – she did not bother herself with such tasks. But Mary thought, that even though wildflowers were far below her in sophistication, she was probably quite pleased. Mary did not think Lady Catherine was the kind of woman who usually inspired bouquets of flowers from her tenants.

“You think you are clever, don’t you, Mrs Collins?” she asked acerbically when the child was out of earshot.

“I have no idea what you mean, Lady Catherine,” said Mary, although she could well guess at it. “Your support means everything to the school, and we are even more grateful to you knowing how we nearly missed out on it. If the children wish to express their gratitude to you, why, it is only right and proper that they do so.”

“Upon my word, such duplicitousness is beyond my dear wife,” Mr Collins hastened to add. “We are truly grateful for your support, as my wife says. Why, I believe there is nothing the children you have given this opportunity will not do for you, should you ask it of them.”

Lady Catherine harrumphed, and moved on.

The next day, Mary was informed that the housekeeper’s instrument was sorely neglected, and Lady Catherine had not extended the invitation to use it to see Mary squander this marvellous opportunity she had been given.

\--

But the good things were not to last. At the beginning of August, a letter arrived from Longbourn with the most distressing news. It appeared Lydia had run off with none other than Mr Wickham, who the young ladies of Meryton had admired so much (Mary had never seen the appeal of him – he was too much charm, and too little substance). She closed her eyes as she handed over the letter to Mr Collins with shaking hands. How could she? That silly, thoughtless, selfish girl, how _could_ she? And where were her parents in all this? Allowing her to go off to Brighton on her own, with no supervision but Mrs Forster, who even Mrs Bennet should have been able to see, was no suitable chaperone at all! But no, Mary could see how this might have happened – Mrs Bennet too eager for her daughters to have opportunities to meet eligible young men, and Mr Bennet too keen to have some peace and quiet for himself, which the temporary absence of his younger would greatly facilitate. Oh, that her parents were not the weak creatures that they were! Oh, that they had done their proper duty by their younger children, and not left them to raise themselves! (Mary had done a decent job of it, she felt, looking to her books for guidance her parents would not give, but that had required no small effort on her part, and her younger sisters, who lacked her strength of character and intellect, had quickly given up in favour of more immediately pleasurable results.) And now they were ruined!

“This is grievous news, indeed, my dear,” said Mr Collins, “and my heart is heavy at your suffering.”

“I must go home at once,” said Mary. “I must lend my support to my parents and remaining sister in these trying times.”

“Of course it is only right that you do your duty, as any good daughter must, but have you considered that perhaps they might find visitors more of a burden than a relief, at this time?” Mr Collins said carefully. She knew he was thinking of his reputation – that if she or both of them rushed to Longbourn, they would immediately be tarnished by this sordid affair, but if they remained, they might claim some distance to that side of the family, and hope it would reflect slightly less on them. Mary knew that those were his motives, and she objected strongly that she was family, not a guest, but nonetheless he had a valid point, so she did pen a letter offering to return immediately, rather than setting off without notice, and waited impatiently for the reply.

Jane’s reply came only in a matter of days – she must have paid extra to have it delivered with such speed, urging her to stay where she was. They were still hoping to have this matter resolved quickly and quietly, she wrote, and while it could never be kept _secret_ , they did not want undue attention brought to it. Lizzie was returning from her travels in Derbyshire, that would have to be enough, she said.

Mary responded immediately, attempting to comfort Jane and give her strength, for she was under no illusions that it was not Jane who were running the household, their mother being relied upon to be useless in times of crisis. Although Mary could not be there in person, she could be there in spirit, she wrote, and they must draw strength in the sisterly embrace of each other.

Mr Collins told Lady Catherine, of course – Mary did not even bother asking him to conceal it from her, for she knew it would be a useless endeavour. Lady Catherine had never liked Mary, not since her victory in the Sunday school affair, and she lost no time in lording it over Mary in a manner most smug indeed. She disparaged not only Lydia’s but also Mary’s character, commenting self-righteously that breeding would out, and asking what could be expected from a girl from a family like that? She had always found in Mary an arrogance and self-satisfaction that sat ill with her, and it seemed the younger sister was no less flawed. Perhaps it was just as well, she suggested, that Mary did not have a child in her, to spare Mr Collins the indignity of an unsuitable heir. No, it was far better to let Longbourn pass through their hands and into the hands of a _respectable_ family who knew how to behave with propriety, and knew not to defy their betters.

The one bright spot in the darkness was that Mr Collins rallied to her, with his own variety of compliments and flattery, which admittedly came with his disparaging comments about her sisters and parents in attempt to raise her spirits. He would never contradict Lady Catherine to her face, but in private, he told her:

“I would very much like to have children with you, and not just because they are important as heirs to Longbourn, but to complete this family we are building. You mustn’t think Lydia’s behaviour reflects on you! I have no doubt her misbehaviour is due to a lack of your guiding influence; had you been there, it would have been very different indeed!”

Mary had never had any guiding influence over Lydia, but she did not say that to Mr Collins.

“Oh, I wish she had been less headstrong. Mr Fordyce says that ‘ _one young lady going astray shall subject her relations to such discredit and distress, as the united good conduct of all her brothers and sisters, supposing them numerous, shall scarce ever be able to repair_ ’, and I fear he is very much in the right about that,” she lamented.

“My dear Mary,” said he, “I have the utmost faith that you can do it on your own. Nobody could look upon your conduct and not see your good sense and character. Perhaps Lydia shall ever be a stain on your family, but you shall be the one to wipe the stain out.”

Her heart swelled with fondness for this silly, fawning, goodhearted, attentive man she had made hers (he would no doubt claim that he had made her his, but she knew the way of the truth). It did her good to think that, had it been eight months previous, when they were just married, he would not have been so sympathetic, unhelpful as the form his sympathy took might be. He had not become cold and distant, as she had feared upon reading the letter for the first time, nor cast her out, and he did not hold her to blame. His behaviour to her was entirely unchanged, and if the regard he held for her was only for the way she reflected upon him, then he would have put her aside – for he gained nothing by being connected to a woman of such an objectionable family. No, her current troubles had at least shown her that his regard for her was genuine.

She practiced the virtue of faith, placing herself in hands of the Divine to steer her through this trying time, but despite her attempts to have good faith and not to despair, August was a deeply unhappy month. The children looked upon her with the same adoration and respect that they had ever had, and she wished to tell them ‘turn your attentions away! I am not worthy of your devotion! Who am I to teach you about correct living, when my own sister would bring such shame upon herself?’

Towards the end of the month, they received the news that Lydia and Mr Wickham had been found and persuaded to marry. It was not entirely clear from Jane’s letter just how the triumph had been achieved, but Mary was too relieved to ask awkward questions. It would not completely erase the shame of their elopement, of course, but it meant that those who did not know the story of how they had married would immediately know of the family’s shame, to her great relief. To her further relief, the Bennets had never been important enough for gossip of their affairs to spread – while their disgrace might have occupied Meryton society for some weeks, and likely would for some weeks further, she was sure to most people outside Meryton it mattered very little, and hopefully the sordid affair might be forgotten eventually.

\--

Not long afterwards, Anne de Bourgh mentioned quietly that Colonel Fitzwilliam had indicated that there might perhaps be a union between Mr Darcy and Lizzie Bennet in the near future. Mary did not pay it much heed, for she knew the truth that Mr Darcy had proposed and Lizzie had rejected him. However, she thought this was Lizzie’s secret, and she was sure Lizzie would not want it spread (and even if she did not mind, Mary would, for as she had told Lizzie immediately after the rejected proposal, she did not want Lizzie to gain a reputation for haughtiness and toying with men’s affections), so she had not mentioned it to anyone and kept her confidence.

“Why, if that is the case, and your cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam is not mistaken, we shall be cousins by marriage, and Lady Catherine shall be my wife’s Aunt by marriage,” responded Mr Collins eagerly. He was almost overcome with anticipation at the thought. “I think they would be quite well suited, do you not, Mary?”

Lady Catherine was not so keen on the idea, however.

“Related by marriage to such as you! It is not to be borne. Mr Collins, is this how you repay my generosity towards you? By asking for ever more, never being satisfied with what you have? You should be ashamed of yourself; a man of the cloth should not have such ambitions! Both you and your wife lack any kind of breeding, and I have barely tolerated you as my vicar, but this goes too far. I curse the first time I heard the name Bennet spoken, for I have never met a family so full of insolent, jumped-up nobodies.”

But Mary had finally had enough.

“Lady Catherine, my family is as good as yours, for all that we lack a title, and I will not remain silent while you bully and belittle my husband. He has done nothing but respect and honour you in every regard, and you repay him with startling lack of gratitude. His wish to be related to you is born out of his strong admiration for you, and nothing else, and it is your inflated regard for yourself that prevents you from seeing it! You see insult where there is none, and you do my husband a gross unfairness. He is a good and honest man who cares deeply for his parishioners, far more than I have ever seen you care for anybody who is not yourself, and despite what you might think of him personally, you have ever denied him the respect he is owed due to his position while demanding far more than you are owed. But perhaps it is asking too much of you to respect anyone other than yourself!”

Lady Catherine was aghast.

“Never have I been spoken to in such a way! I shall not bear it, and if you won’t see sense, perhaps I might impress upon your sister to make _her_ see sense!”

“I doubt that very much, but it is possible you will have better luck than I have had my entire life,” replied Mary coolly.

“This dinner is over,” declared Lady Catherine. “I need my bags readied, I will depart at once!”

Mr and Mrs Collins were hustled out with rather undignified haste, and poor Miss de Bourgh was left alone at the dining table, white as a sheet at this exchange of words between her mother and their guests.

“I fear you may have irreversibly made an enemy out of Lady Catherine, my dearest Mary,” said William with a touch of awe in his voice. “While I appreciate your support of me, was that wise, considering she is in charge of our living?”

“She cannot have you removed without writing to the bishop, and in fact, we have better relations with the bishop than she has, as well as with the rector and vicars of nearby parishes, who I am sure would lend their support to us should she wish to have you removed. We might be less well off for a while if she decreases her allowance, but we’ll make do with the tithes from the parish. I am quite used to not having quite enough money, and while I cannot say my mother was ever a good or frugal housekeeper, I learnt many tricks from Hill and from Jane. Also, you stand to inherit a decent home from my father. We shall do quite well, my dear William.”

“Indeed we shall,” agreed William. “Why, I never thought I would tell Lady Catherine off, and not be overcome with anxiety at losing everything! That is entirely due to you, my dear, you have given me strength I never thought I would have.”

Mary elected to ignore that it was in fact _she_ who had told Lady Catherine off, not he, and the fact that his speech was perhaps a touch overly dripping with sentiment for her tastes.

“We give each other strength, the way a married couple ought to,” she said instead.

Arm in arm, Mr and Mrs Collins walked the short lane back to the parsonage.


End file.
